


UNTIL I'M COMPLETELY BROKEN IN

by BandWurks, orphan_account



Category: Shinedown (Band)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BandWurks/pseuds/BandWurks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brent is broken after a bar fight. Can he be put back together? Title from Bent by Matchbox Twenty.





	

Brent stumbled as he stepped out of the bar, a familiar hand reaching out to catch him before he fell to his knees. He wasn’t drunk; on the contrary, he hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol while he was there, despite having wanted to so badly. He had abstained, instead ordering a coke and watching the people around him interact, paying for drinks of strangers, listening to the conversations around him that were all so telling and yet so isolating to him at once. He had been alone, just trying to pay attention, to maybe fall into the role of someone else’s life instead of his own that was destroying him every second of the day inside.

Blood dripped down his face, a cut above his eyebrow, his nose bleeding, his jaw rattled. The fight was a blur to him, and similarly, so were the reasons surrounding it, but every step he took further outside the bar and towards a car he was being led to helped clear the spinning of his mind and the ringing in his ears, though the pounding pain in his head remained. Someone was complaining… Someone was talking about their situation as if it was the worst in the world… And something inside him had snapped…

As they reached the car, Brent was helped in, and he adjusted the passenger’s seat until he was very nearly lying back, groaning as his eyes closed and his fingers flitted to his temples. The familiar hand that had been supporting him left him, his shoulder aching for that touch once more, as the person who had led him to the car rounded it to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting it, pulling out.

The car was silent for a long moment, an eternity and yet nowhere near long enough as the question was posed to Brent and Brent groaned, his long, straight hair splaying across the headrest of the seat that now stretched like a lounge chair. 

“Brent, why did you get in that fight?” Barry’s voice came from beside him and Brent couldn’t even bring himself to attempt an answer. Instead, he leaned up to turn on the radio, a noise to try to distract from the ringing in his ears because he didn’t want to think about anything pertaining to the fight right now, because that would lead to thinking about how he felt, and Brent felt like absolute shit far before he had gotten into the fight. He leaned back once more, only for Barry to reach and turn off the radio with a click, and Brent groaned. “Brent, answer me.”

“I don’t fucking want to, now leave the radio on so I don’t have to listen to the sound in my ears from this fight,” Brent groaned, sitting up once more to turn the radio on, his head pounding harder than it had been before. He heard a huff from Barry, but the radio stayed on. Brent didn’t have the energy to change the station, so it remained on alternative radio, playing several alternative hits from over the course of the years in the forty-five minutes it took to drive back to Brent’s place. The car was silent other than the radio and the sound of wheels turning on battered pavement that desperately needed reparation, as bumpy a road as the one Brent was on in life. 

As Barry pulled in to the equally battered driveway, Brent had finally managed to start breathing again, starting to feel the spinning in his head subside. The length of the drive had forced him to think about what had happened despite his desire not to, and now the details were coming back one at a time like the beginning of a hailstorm until bigger pieces came harder and faster and stronger and pelted Brent’s memory and feelings like the roof of a house. It was painful to think about, and Brent knew it was just like a hailstorm: if he tried to step out, he would get hurt, so all he could do was sit and endure it.

Barry left the car in park a moment, letting the song on the radio (Bent by Matchbox Twenty) finish playing itself out as finally tears began to slip down Brent’s cheeks, the hail melting off and becoming raindrops, simply making noise and running off but with no ability to hurt him until they became too much and flooded. Barry looked at Brent curiously before shutting the car (and subsequently, the radio) off, getting out and rounding the side to help Brent out. 

Brent stumbled once more, Barry’s hand having to catch and support him as he was lead to the door, fumbling for the right key. Eventually, he handed the set of keys to Barry, who unlocked the door and led him in moving toward the couch to sit. Brent almost hoped Barry would leave, but he knew that after having to be bailed out at a bar when he wasn’t even drunk, that would have been far too good to be true.

Instead of sitting in the chair across from the couch like he normally would, Barry instead dropped upon the couch beside Brent, causing Brent’s misty eyes to widen even amidst his tears. He swallowed once, twice, as Barry repeated the question that he had asked earlier. “Brent, why did you get in that fight?” This time, however, Barry’s voice was far gentler, far less accusatory in tone, and more tears slid down Brent’s cheeks as the floodgates were opened. Brent tried to hold it in, tried to hold his feeling back, but he couldn’t. He heard Barry sigh softly, the next words almost pitiful in tone. “Brent, come on, let it out, it’s okay… You can tell me why and what happened…”

Brent had to fight the urge to vomit at the pity in Barry’s tone. He didn’t want to be pitied; he hated pity as an emotion. It was part of why the fight had been instigated, because Brent had heard someone complaining in hopes of finding pity, and it had angered him. The person he had heard? Their situation had been nothing. They had been complaining about their kid’s teacher making them volunteer. That was what it had been. They weren’t going through what Brent was, and they were complaining about it as if their situation was the worst in the world. How could it be? They weren’t dealing with severe depression, they weren’t dealing with infighting of the people they valued most, they weren’t dealing with cravings for drugs and periodic withdrawals, they weren’t dealing with trying to figure out how much they could bring with them once they had to leave home to go and do things for work, leave their home behind to actually do something that would take far longer than a few hours… Sure, Brent loved being a singer, but it was hard to have to leave his home behind, and to deal with the depression that fueled his music, and to fight through his recovery… It was fucking hard and he was pissed that someone would have the audacity to search for pity when they had nothing like this to deal with.

These thoughts spilled out of Brent’s mouth nearly instantaneously, anger and pain and depression and desire all mixing together through tears and a tone that lied somewhere between angry and hurt and sick and incredulous all at once. While it was true that Brent hated being pitied and he didn’t want anyone’s pity, he did want to be comforted, to feel loved. Every thought that passed through Brent’s head at the moment ended up falling from his mouth, and Brent watched Barry’s expression as he went on change from one of pity to one of worry to one of care to one of deep concern as Brent finally described the details of the fight.

He had told the person who was complaining to shut up, he remembered, telling them that volunteering for a kid’s school was nothing, that they should be grateful they could because there were far worse things to be dealing with than helping their child. The person had sneered, calling him a pussy and telling him that his big, famous rock star problems were probably insignificant, like how much money to spend on food when he had a ton of it. This had angered Brent, who had told the person that his problems and pain were far harder to deal with than that person could ever imagine, and the person had told him that they would give him something that really hurt before clocking him. And soon Brent was fighting back out of necessity, and so was the person, until finally, Brent was in worse shape, drained from his swollen jawline and bleeding forehead and nose and from his desire to take anything to numb the pain he was feeling both physically and emotionally and when it was evident Brent couldn’t stand, that was when the bartender had taken his phone and called Barry for him, the first number in his phone alphabetically. And yet Brent was glad it had been Barry instead of Eric or Zach, because Barry had seen far worse of Brent, had stuck by him the whole time that Brent was struggling through his addiction. He had so much love for his bandmates, but Barry was special, his love for Barry had changed over the years to absolute need.

These thoughts too slipped out of Brent’s mouth and he was reddening as he realized what had been said. He had been too focused on his thoughts and feelings to notice until now that strong arms were wrapped around him, holding him close, and soon, Brent was looking up at the taller, unwavering man that was holding him, more tears ready to fall.

And then lips were upon Brent’s own, kissing him gently yet passionately, love and care and need all throughout the kiss of his drummer and Brent managed to clutch Barry closer, more tears falling until the kiss broke and both men pulled away before Brent was hungrily returning for another kiss. The pure need between the two, the love and care Barry had for Brent after watching him fall and helping to lift him back up so many times, the pain Brent felt constantly, an ache at the center of his mind, all fell together into passion and love for each other before they pulled apart once more, breathless.

“Barry, I-“ The words began to fall from Brent’s mouth before they were cut off by another kiss. Brent was left breathless once more, but he knew he had to say it. “Barry, please, let me… I…” He paused to try to catch his breath, swallowing. “I was going to say… I love you… And I need you.” Brent swallowed, waiting for the reaction to hit, the acknowledgement that Barry dating his fucked up bandmate was insane and that it wouldn’t work, that it would never work. When no reaction came, Brent’s eyes welled up with tears once more before Barry’s arms were tightening around Brent.

“I need you too, Brent… And I love you too.” As the words fell from Barry’s mouth, Brent gazed at him, surprised. He felt a deep longing to be close to Barry, to keep Barry close to him, terrified that if he hadn’t driven Barry away yet, he surely would soon. And yet all Brent could do was curl close in Barry’s arms, the true bodily exhaustion of the fight and the admission and the depression hitting Brent as he began to feel the need for rest.

“I’m bent, Barry… And I need you to keep me together,” Brent murmured, fighting the threat of sleep that was close to overtaking him. He couldn’t help but feel that last song was truly what he was experiencing, and as Brent’s eyes began to close, he could only see the gentle, nurturing smile that painted Barry’s face as Barry began to hum to Brent, words he himself had written recently, and recorded, but that hadn’t made the final cut of their own new album. A song that could, perhaps, stay theirs a while longer. And Brent knew for sure that Barry was never going to let go as finally, Brent’s eyes closed and he fell asleep in the drummer’s arms, the last thing he felt being Barry’s lips pressed to his forehead.


End file.
